


Triptych

by FireEye



Category: Saints Row
Genre: Deathfic, F/M, Gen, trope bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 18:00:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SR1.  The death of one leaves a mark on them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triptych

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this fic encompasses Action Hero Physics and You Should Not Try This Shit At Home.

The cellphone buzzed off the edge of the end table and into his hand. Twisting it in the lamplight, he squinted at the display.

_HELP_

_FUCK OFF_

The cellphone buzzed again under his palm before he could leave it back where it belonged.

_DYING_

_GETTING LAID CALL DEX_

In the other room, the phone rang, and Johnny sprang out of bed, rushing towards the living room.

“Hey, could you maybe not...”

Dishtowel thrown over one arm, Aisha stared at him quizzically as he rounded the door and she raised the receiver to her ear.

“Hello...?” She twined the cord around her fingers, and her eyes widened. “Sweetie, what happened, you sound terri-...”

“Yeah, he’s right here.” The cord slipped from her fingers. She looked to Johnny and held out the phone. “It’s Malaki.”

“I know who the fuck it is,” he said, although he took the phone anyway. Aisha’s mouth curled into a pout, which Johnny ignored. To _Malaki_ , he said, “This had better be good.”

_“If you don’t get down here soon, I’m dead.”_

“Good! It’ll save me the trouble killing your ass personally.”

“Johnny!” the rebuke overshadowed the faintly breathed, _“...please.”_

Aisha stared at him, aghast; Johnny stared back for several long moments, listening to silence on the line, then sighed in resignation.

“The fuck are you at?”

*-*-*

The neighborhood was dead at this time of night, but that went with the area. A cluster of dark brick buildings, the occasional bum huddled, barely outlined in a doorway or against a wall, and the flashy mishmash of bright color of a small handful of women who strolled slowly along the sidewalk. Of the latter, one broke away, skirting the outside of the car to come around the driver’s side.

“Hey there, handsome.”

Turning his head and finding himself faced with her chest, Johnny flashed a cheerful smile. “Hi!”

“You look a bit lost,” she purred. “You looking for something? Or maybe someone?”

“Well, yeah, actually,” he leaned forward to glance around the woman at her entourage, who had stopped to watch the exchange, before looking up at her. “I _am_ lookin’ for someone.”

Her face lit up. “Oh?”

“Around five-seven, maybe five-nine, short black hair, darker’n me, lighter’n you, tight leather vest, loose t-shirt, wears his socks in his jeans,” Johnny bobbed his head in an indecisive nod, and his smile faded out, “Kinda a teenage boy if you didn’t happen to know any better.”

“That’s...” her eyebrows knit together, “pretty damn specific.”

“Yeah, any chance you’ve seen him around?”

“Um...” She glanced back at her companions, and shrugged. “I’m sorry, I can’t really say...”

Johnny reached for his wallet, pulling out the first two bills that were on top and offering them to the woman. She glanced up and down the quiet street, but didn’t make a move to accept the money.

“C’mon, fastest money you’ll ever make, especially walkin’ _this_ dump of a road.”

Not that her caution wasn’t necessarily warranted.

“You’re with the Saints, right? I really don’t want to get involved in this kind of thing.”

Johnny added two more bills to the pile; this time she hesitated, but after a thought snatched the money and concealed it just as quickly.

“The Rollerz were chasing some guy up by the Theater earlier,” she explained in a whisper. “I can’t promise it was your friend. He wasn’t wearing any colors or anything.”

“Friend?” Johnny grinned. “Hell, no. Fucker owes me money.”

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a lie.

 

Two streets later, there was a flash of blue in the periphery of his vision, and he eased back around for a closer look.

Sure enough, there were four of them – three probably in their late teens or early twenties, and a man who looked far more certain about what he was doing. Of the others, one hunched by the car and the other two failed to look particularly menacing as they loitered. He hadn’t seen the car parked in the angle of the alley on his first pass, and it seemed that from where they were now, they apparently hadn’t noticed the figure crouched across from the dumpster.

Upon retrieving his gun from its holster, Johnny took careful aim at the ring leader. The bullet struck its target in the back, between the shoulders, dropping him instantly and earning Johnny the sudden attention of the other three. In the instant their backs were turned, Faith had lunged from the stack of boxes and garbage she’d been using for cover to clamber atop the dumpster and make a leap to the other side of the alley; from there, she darted along the top of the wall until ended, and, stumbling as she hit the ground, dashed for the safety of his car.

Scrambling over the side, she slopped into the passenger seat and ducked under the cover of the door. Johnny fired twice more – hitting one of the men and sending the other one diving for cover – before speeding off down the street away from the return fire.

He counted five blocks, making arbitrary turns, before taking stock of Faith’s condition. Huddled well under the window, eyes wide and breathing hard, she was soaked through and shivering cold despite the lingering summer heat. The chain around her neck had been pulled taut and specked with blood, disappearing under the torn and darkly stained leather of her vest. Her gloves were gone, and her arms were marred by rope burns.

“You don’t look so bad off.” Her eyes flicked towards him as he talked, and she straightened in her seat to peer over the rim of the car. “Give me one good reason why I don’t leave your ass in the gutter?”

Faith scraped her palm against her nose and it left a bright streak of red across her cheek. She lolled her head towards him to answer, thick in her throat, “Because you’re too fucking obtuse to get away with it without Julius cutting off your balls.”

“Good answer,” Johnny praised, but she seemed too entranced in watching the buildings roll past to acknowledge it. “The hell were you doing out here to get yourself so fucked up anyway?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Fucking up Rollerz _is_ our business, thank you very much.” When she didn’t respond, he shook his head, concentrating on the road. “Whatever.”

“You know, for a prissy little car clique, they’re pretty damn sloppy. I would have expected a high speed chase or something.”

“The fact that I slashed their tires might have something to do with it,” Faith rasped.

As Johnny pulled up to the highway intersection, she straightened up a bit further, and winced. Her hand fluttered to her shoulder, but with effort, she folded her bloodied hands in her lap. Taking his eyes off the red light, he watched her fidget.

“Hey, just so we’re absolutely clear? I am _not_ your fuckin’ babysitter. Next time you fall in over your head, if I’m not in the mood to deal with it, you are on your own.”

“Fine.”

“Are we clear?”

“Yeah. We’re clear.” It took her two attempts to meet his gaze; her expression was grim-set, her eyes dull. Her stare dropped to the radio, and when she spoke, her voice was hollow, “Drop me off up the north side of Misty Lane and I’ll be out of your hair.”

Under the dim streetlight, Johnny glared past that, piqued.

“Bullshit,” he mumbled at last. Instead, he leaned forward and peeled off his jacket. “I’m taking you to the fucking hospital. Here.”

He shoved it at her, and Faith’s scowl melted, her open expression wavering between gratitude and suspicion. Hesitantly pulling the jacket over her shoulders and knees, she curled up under the wool with a soft sigh that hitched in her throat.

*-*-*

“You know, I think I finally understand Sister Juliana’s Exegesis of the _Tractatus Theologico-Politicus_?” He rolled her off his shoulder and onto the bed. Managing to keep upright, Faith cocked her head as she squinted at him. “I still don’t _agree_ with it-...”

“Man, Cath really doped you up on some good shit, didn’t she?”

Faith considered this.

“Eyeah,” she agreed at length, then shook her head, “but now I can’t find my feet.”

“Have you tried looking under your shoes?” Johnny clarified as she glanced around and leaned past the mattress to look towards the door. “Nah, ‘Stas, I mean the shoes at the end of your legs.” Snickering at her coo of discovery, he glanced around the sparse basement apartment, at a loss. “Where the hell do you keep your clothes?”

“In the trunk. Where do you keep yours?”

It took some effort to find the trunk, shoved under a creaky table covered with a lumpy sheet, and more still to find and dress her in something sleep-worthy. Task surmounted, he knelt beside the mattress and snapped his fingers to get her attention.

“Hey, look at me.” Pulling two bags wrapped around a bottle from his pants’ pocket, he waved them in front of her, one by one.

“Bullet that tried to kill you.”

“Thing that kept the bullet from killing you.”

Her mouth curled into a tight snarl. “It’s a saint’s medallion you boorish heathen.”

Johnny looked at the bloody thing in the bag, then back to her. “I really don’t give a shit.”

He gave the bottle a shake, and held it up for her inspection.

“Happy Pills,” he told her. “Now, you remember what Cath...”

Faith stared at him with the rapt attention of an immaculate schoolgirl, and pupils collectively the approximate size of the point of a needle, upon which every angel in creation were no doubt throwing one hell of a rave.

“...fuck it, you’re not going to remember any of this; I’m writing it down.”

*-*-*

There was a fresh grave in the cemetery.

It was largely a symbolic gesture. The city never had relocated the bones of the long neglected and subsequently forgotten churchyard, after all. But for fallen Saints, the dirt was churned and a wreath was placed. Most of the time they couldn’t even recover their own; and they never bothered with the formality unless it was someone who had been with them for some time.

Johnny joined Dex at the graveside, narrowing down the list of potentials with a mental check of everyone he had seen alive and well that morning.

“Who?”

“Lin.”

“How?”

“Drowned.”

“ _Who_?”

“Who do you _think_?” The vehemence in his voice seemed to shock him, and Dex recanted immediately, “I’m sorry, I....”

But there wasn’t anything to say.

They stood in long silence, until Dex shifted his weight and looked up.

“Listen, have you seen Malaki? He took off earlier and isn’t answering his phone; he and Julius got into it with Price this morning... he was acting _weird_ , man; didn’t seem like he was all there.”

Hanging off the arm of the cross was a chain, with Faith’s saint’s medallion dangling from it. Dried blood still remained in the deeper lines of the etching, and the hairsbreadth gaps of the chain. Johnny pulled it from its resting place, and studied it as it dangled.

“Haven’t seen him, but I know where he is.” With a flick of his wrist, the medallion landed in the palm of his hand, and he nodded to Dex. “Come on.”

*-*-*

The door cracked open, silent on well-oiled hinges.

Nothing shot at him, and nothing moved. The air within was stifled and warm, and very, very still. Drying blood spattered the stairs above a dead woman in a blue halter-top, and the only sound that reached their ears was the ticking of a clock, somewhere deeper in.

Stepping past the threshold, Johnny holstered his gun under his belt and glanced back at Dex.

“I’ll check upstairs, you check downstairs?”

“Did you seriously just suggest to me that we split up?”

Johnny glanced through one archway, then the second. Grinning at Dex, he shrugged, grabbing the banister. “I don’t think you got too much to worry about.”

 

 _Click_. _Click_... _Cli-ick._

At the top of the stairs he paused, then followed the sound around the corner to the adjacent room. There, Faith sat on the bed, with her back to the door. On the bed beside her were a pile of loose bullets that she fed one by one into a magazine. She didn’t notice his approach until he leaned on the bed behind her.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Lin?”

Spinning in surprise, she slipped off the mattress, falling to her knees. The bullets flew everywhere to clatter across the floor. Helpless, she watch them scatter, then looked up at him as he pushed off the bed and shook her head.

“What was I supposed to say?”

Circling the bed, he loomed over her, even after she scrambled her way up to her feet.

“Answer the fucking question, ‘Stas.”

“What do you _want_ me to say?” Anger seethed beneath her words, seeping through the cracks. “I was shot, thrown into the lake in the trunk of a car, and left for dead. And I was the _lucky_ one. You’ll forgive me for being more than a little out of it at the time.”

Crouching, she preoccupied herself with gathering together all the bullets in her reach, as though by not looking at him she could ignore that he existed.

“Fuck this.”

Grabbing her by the collar of her vest, he dragged her along until she found her footing. Searching the rooms until he found the bathroom, he shoved her into the bathtub. The commotion brought Dex running, and he found them just in time to see Johnny turn on the water.

“The fuck is going on?” The question met silence, and he asked again, focusing on Johnny. “What the hell are you doing?”

Johnny waved him off, and caught Faith as she lunged out of the tub, shoving her straight back into it. She threw her hands up, shivering.

“Turn off the water.”

“Why should I?”

Watching the exchange silently, Dex tried to moved past him, only to be pushed back against the door.

“Turn off the damn water!”

“Or _what_?”

The rising sob that rose from the bathtub was grief and anger, boiling over.

“ _I could’ve saved her!_ ”

For a long moment, Johnny stared at her, before slapping the water valve shut.

“Yeah, well you fuckin’ didn’t.”

Faith ignored the hand he offered, hauling herself over the side of the tub and flopping on the floor. With a shrug, he let her be.

Shooting a glare at his retreating back, Dex draped a plush beach towel about her shoulders. Pulling her to her feet, he steered her toward the nearest bedroom.

“It’s okay, you hear me?” He sat her down on the bed and, kneeling on the floor, patted her down with the towel’s edges. “You’re okay.”

“No, it’s not...” She clenched her fists to keep them from shaking, “I’m not okay.”

“Kai...” His hands settled on her shoulders, and he peered up at her face. “Johnny told me what happened with the Rollerz the other night. I’m going to call Julius and get some guys out here. Then, we’re gonna get you to Catherine and she’ll you all sorted out.” He squeezed her shoulder, offering a tentative smile. “Alright?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Faith shook her head.

“Well that’s just too bad, because that’s what we’re gonna do.” Letting go of her shoulders, Dex stood up and nudged her back against the pillows. “C’mon, lie down.”

He leaned forward to push her legs up onto the bed and she curled inward, drawing the towel tighter around her shoulders. Faith drew in a shuddering sigh, loosening the buttons of her vest.

“Can I talk to you?” she murmured. “I mean... _talk_ , talk.”

“Anytime. _Except,_ ” he preempted, holding up a hand, “right now. Right now, I want you to relax for a couple of minutes while I get things taken care of.”

Dex closed the door behind him, and Faith struggled to steady her breathing. Exhaustion surmounted grief, and she drifted farther to the edge of sleep.

In her pocket, her cellphone buzzed, and Faith’s eyes snapped open.

*-*-*

“What the hell was that?”

“What? I’m pissed off.”

Dex stood his ground. “So why are you taking it out on him?”

“You heard him,” Johnny shrugged, “He could have saved her.”

“Johnny, here’s an idea for you: how about taking it out on the fucking guys who were responsib-...”

Footfalls thundered down the stairs, and Malaki hit the floor hard, running for the door.

“Whoa... _hey_.” Johnny made a grab for his collar as he sped past, but he shrugged out of the vest, leaving it hanging in Johnny’s hand. He stared at the vest, then at the front door still swaying on its hinges. “The fuck’s she going now?”

“...she?”

“ _Is he_.” Dex blinked at him, and he enunciated, “ _The fuck is he going_. What, you got something the matter with your ears, man?”

“Sorry, I thought.... Never mind.” Shaking it off, Dex sighed. He pulled out his cellphone and began to dial Malaki’s number. A ringtone sounded in reverb with the dialtone, and he spun around to find Johnny holding the vest at arms length. Johnny dug Malaki’s phone out of the vest’s inside pocket, and Dex ended the call.

Among the recent messages, one name in particular caught Johnny’s eye, and he played it back. Dex watched the muted interest that bloomed in his expression with distrust.

“What is it?”

Already moving for the door, Johnny held the phone out to him and dropped it into his hands. “The fucking guy who’s responsible.”

*-*-*

The full moon had risen by the time she reached the car lot. Without turning off the engine for the headlights, she slipped out the door, fingers curled around the handle of her pistol. The lot was dark, but nearby, a truck’s engine idled.

Price revved the engine, giving himself away.

The truck loomed out of the darkness, and barreled straight into her borrowed squadcar, crushing the passenger side inward and rolling the entire vehicle to one side. Faith scrambled out of the way of the car, and turned on her heel, sprinting for the hauler itself. Lunging, she managed to grab the scaffolding and haul herself up over the rear right wheelwell as the truck gained momentum.

 

Not a hundred feet away, Johnny’s car lurched to a stop as the hauler lurched across the intersection. Dex buried his face in his hands at the sight; Johnny eyed him nonchalantly.

“Want me to drive?”

Swatting Johnny’s hand away from the wheel, Dex reached down to shift into first. “ _No_.”

Running the red light, they sped after Price’s truck and onto the freeway, weaving around the few cars stupid enough to have gotten in his way. Ahead, Malaki inched across the scaffolding; three quarters along the length of the hauler, his hand slipped but he recovered, clinging to the metal railing for dear life.

In the same instant, something hit their windshield, leaving a spider’s web of cracks. Dex swerved and recovered, catching up promptly.

Pressed flat against the scaffolding, Malaki hadn’t moved.

“Shit.” Johnny reached for the top of the windshield and pulled himself upwards, balancing between it and the convertible bar. “Get us closer.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“Fuck if I know,” Johnny mumbled in reply.

Making a smooth leap from the car to the scaffolding, he swiftly crawled his way to where Faith clung to the metal frame. She jolted when he touched her shoulder, and her eyes snapped open.

They shouted past each other, until Johnny tapped his ear and shook his head. They signed back and forth, and Johnny nudged her towards the cab. Faith looked forward, then glanced back at him. The next sign was abundantly clear.

She’d dropped her gun.

Johnny reached for his, and offered it to her. She hesitated, before taking it, resolve pooling in her eyes; he tugged her t-shirt as she began to move forward again, and mimed, _put it away_. She jammed the gun into the belt of her jeans, and he shadowed her progress as they made their way to the cab.

Clinging to the edge of the cab, Faith reached into the gap and took careful aim.

Two bullets, and the hauler shuddered. She glanced at him, and Johnny nodded, bracing himself.

The third shot took out the coupling, and the load separated from the cab, careening out of control. Scrambling up the scaffolding as the hauler topped over, Johhny lunged for the safety of his car; he clambered across the hood until he got his footing as the car swerved out from under the falling mass of metal, and fell, none the worse for wear, into the passenger’s seat.

Dex diverted his attention between the man beside him and the road ahead.

“Are you fucking crazy?”

“...that a rhetorical question?”

The city slowed around them, and Johnny sat up straight. “What the hell are you slowing down for?”

Catching up again was made more difficult by encroaching traffic, and the fact that the truck was wobbling dangerously.

Malaki had managed to pop open the passenger-side door, lodging his foot in the gap as he elbowed it open. From the car, they couldn’t hear the gunshot, but the door wobbled and slammed shut again as he fell back, and a dark stain bloomed along the side of his white t-shirt. In an instant, Johnny was on his feet again, bracing himself behind the driver’s seat. Dex sped up, reaching the near rear wheels just barely as Malaki’s hand slipped from its hold.

Johnny caught him mid-fall.

At the last moment, Dex swerved left, pulling their inertia inward towards the center of the car. Johnny masterfully caught the passenger’s side door and Malaki fell beneath him, landing head and shoulders against the passenger’s seat. The car skid to a stop, and Dex sat up to assess the damage.

Only to be shoved back down again as Johnny kneed him between the shoulder blades and hunched down himself. The heat of the explosion washed over them; the rumble echoed and died to a roaring blaze. The fire enveloped Price’s truck and the tanker he had crashed into.

The passenger door opened, and Malaki slid out, rolling and climbing to his feet. Johnny took advantage of his absence to settle into the passenger’s seat and Dex stretched. As they recovered their breath, the two of them watched Malaki limping towards the flaming wreckage.

Dex shook his head. “He really had it bad for her, didn’t he?”

“He’ll get over it,” Johnny replied. Wincing, he pulled his knee in to slide it under the dashboard and reclined in the passengers seat. “We all do.”

He held out a bloody hand towards Dex, grinning.

“Admit it, though; that was pretty fuckin’ sweet.”

*-*-*

Candles sat upon the grave marker, some burning strong, some sputtering out, some melted beyond recognition.

Fingers ghosted against his palm, and Johnny twisted his hand away.

“Hey, a hint to keeping up with your little game? Guys don’t go around holding the hands of other guys.” Smirking at her expression, he gave her a swift pat on her shoulder. “Hey, I don’t make the rules, it’s just one of those things.”

“Yeah.” Faith shoved her hands in her pockets. “I guess it would be.”

Her gaze fell upon the nearest candle, to the edge of the cross, as it flickered at the edge of burning out. She pinched it out, and rubbed the wax between her fingers.

Across the yard, Dex appeared on the steps to the Church. He immediately made a beeline for Lin’s makeshift grave.

“Hey,” he smiled. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ll live,” Faith rasped, taken by a sudden interest in her shoes. His face fell in sympathy, and Dex drew her into his arms; for a mere instant she resisted, out of habit, before crumpling into the embrace, shuddering with poorly-repressed grief.

“Listen to me,” he whispered. “It’s _over_. You got the bastard.”

Half-pulling, half-pushing away, he gripped her shoulders firmly, angling to meet her eyes. He nodded her towards Julius, who had joined them, silent as a ghost, and held out a hand.

“Come on, son; let’s talk.”

Hunching her shoulders, she stepped towards him, and he pressed a hand to her back, guiding her off towards the other side of the graveyard. She glanced back, then to Julius as they rounded the corner towards the front of the Church and out of sight.

Looking up, Dex sighed. “Hey, man-...”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Johnny told him.

Dex nodded in agreement.

They stood in long silence, each lost in the memory of an old friend.

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of the fifty times I ended up playing Semi-Charmed Life before regrouping with a better stock of ammo. I am enjoying my jaunt through Saints Row, but one thing I would change would have been more cross-chatter with the character interaction. [Granted, the open ended game design with set events such as character death and kidnapping makes it obvious why this doesn't happen. I still would have enjoyed it, though.]
> 
> If you're of a mind to comment, please keep in mind that as of the publishing of this fic I have thus far only played SR1 and the prologue of SR2. I have no idea where it goes from there and would prefer to remain unspoiled (and have managed to dodge pretty much everything so far.) Thankee. :)


End file.
